


At Your Fingertips

by Rin89



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-02-05 08:13:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1811491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rin89/pseuds/Rin89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson used to be a Death Eater. After the fall of Voldemort he ran to muggle London. For four years he pretended to be an army doctor who returned from Afghanistan. His life changed drastically when Sherlock decided to pick a case that was connected with magical world which John tried so hard to forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Past is Knocking on The Door

 

 

The streets in London were not really an appropriate place for running away. Unfortunately, John Watson had no other choice at the moment because his past was chasing him, and being caught would mean only death. The autumn evening gave him some advantages, so he could hide himself in the dark, narrow alleys, but he knew that the one pursuing him was about to use every possible means to catch him. And to think that John could have been now sitting in his comfortable chair at 221B Baker Street. It all happened because he had not been careful enough. Four years of hiding and now, because of his stupid whim, he could lose everything.

“Damn it!” John cursed as he struggled with his sleeve where his wand was being kept at the moment. To think that the years of ignoring his magical heritage would mean that he even had now trouble with getting out his wand. And in a moment when his life literary depended on it.

As he at least managed to pull his 12 inches long hawthorn wand with a dragon heartstring for its core, he sighed contently at the feeling of magic flowing through him as he held the wand in his right hand. God, how he missed this feeling. But John did not have time for leisure, he needed to act quickly. The auror was right behind and the moment he used a spell to disarm the doctor was coming closer with every second. John was a skilled duelist but he knew that now he didn’t stand a chance. Not only hasn’t he used magic for nearly four years, but also the auror who was after him was no one else but the Savior of the Wizarding World – Harry Potter. If Dark Lord hadn’t stood a chance against the man, then John certainly didn’t either.

John ran as fast as he could while trying to remember any spell that would get him out of this disastrous situation. He knew illusions were out of question, because the sharp eye of an auror would catch it in no time. He needed something better, but all spells that came to his mind were dark and those would give him away even faster than the illusions. As he ran near a dumpster, he decided that it was his best shot. He pointed his wand at the small trash bag and transfigured it into a rabbit. The animal quickly set off causing quite a noise, and John in the meantime hid himself in one of the trash containers. He hoped that his magical signature which was now freshly imprinted on the rabbit would fool Potter.

He held his breath as he heard quickly approaching footsteps. He closed his eyes but the man ran past him. John kept listening, afraid that the man might return. But after a few minutes nothing happened. He let out a relieved breath and put his head in his hands. He was still too shaken to try to get on his legs and climb out of the container. His mind and heart were racing.

To think that Potter would actually find him. John was so careful after the fall of the Dark Lord. The first thing he did was to run away to muggle London, hid his wand, change the money and pretend to be a muggle. He was good at playing the role. As a Death Eater who infiltrated St. Mungo’s and fooled countless ministry officials, it was not a difficult task for him. It had been almost too easy to get a fake ID, telling some muggle officials that he has just returned from the war and got robbed of his on the airport. No one had asked question, no one had seemed to be interested in details. It was perfect. John knew that the best way to lie is to entail some truth into the made up stories. So instead of fighting a war against mudbloods and blood traitors, he said that he fought in Afghanistan against terrorists. If someone asked about his injures, then he would say that he got shot, hence his return to England. He doubted anyone would believe him anyway, if he admitted that he got hit with Reducto in the shoulder and that his limp isn’t really psychosomatic but caused by too much exposure to Cruciatus Curse which Dark Lord simply adored to use.

After spending some weeks among muggles and making sure his cover was perfect, John even had gone as far as to attend a therapy. He had been bored. And not just bored. He had been bored out of his mind. Nothing had been interesting here, not even the Internet, telly or mobile phones which he reluctantly had learned how to use. He could not appear in Diagon Alley, because he was now a wanted man and frankly, he preferred to be bored for the rest of his life than to have his soul sucked by a Dementor, or worse – to be locked for years in Azkaban.

All changed when he had met Sherlock. He is going to be thankful for the rest of his life that he had run into Mike Stamford that day. They used to go to Hogwarts together and their families were on friendly terms. Mike hadn’t picked a side in the war because right after graduation he started studying muggle medicine in order to improve various healing spells. That was how Mike got to know Sherlock at Bart’s. And that was how he had decided that a strange, extremely brilliant but also extremely down to earth Sherlock Holmes would be a perfect flatmate for John. Someone who wouldn’t believe in magic, someone who would be strange enough to actually focus the attention on himself instead of John.

But the extraordinary mind of Sherlock Holmes made John worry on various occasions. The Ex-Death Eater was startled when during their first meeting Sherlock almost completely guessed his cover story. John needed to be extra careful to not expose anything about the magical world he used to be a part of. The worry ceased during the Baskerville case when Sherlock made it clear that he doesn’t believe in anything supernatural even if every evidence would point to that. This experience, though slightly traumatizing for John because of the drug induced fear of the hound, helped him relax and become more casual in his behavior.

So how come John is now sitting in a dumpster and trying to control his shaking body? The only answer he would give now would be: because he is stupid. Even more stupid that Sherlock believes him to be. And to think that he almost became a muggle. He dated muggle girls, even got married. Unfortunately, his wife had died during childbirth and his daughter hadn’t survived the night. After that experience John decided to stop trying to get into a role of perfect muggle – married and with children. Instead he placed all his attention on Sherlock, with whom once again he decided to share a flat. Their life together wasn’t easy, but surely it wasn’t boring. The friends kept solving cases together and walking dangerous paths on daily basis. And that was perfect for John. It reminded him of his life as a Death Eater. Well, minus the murders of the muggles, mudbloods and other scum.

His life would be still perfectly normal if they hadn’t got a case about serial killer who was murdering children in London. There were five bodies and Sherlock still couldn’t find the motive or the killer. The thing that linked all the victims was that they died on their eleventh birthday and that the murderer carved a symbol of a snake and skull on their chests. John didn’t need to think for long to connect the dots and figure it out who was behind the murders and what was the actual motive. The Dark Mark, hidden under thick layers of Disillusionment Charms, tingled on his forearm as he first saw it engraved on the body of the fourth victim.

The case was extremely dangerous, but Sherlock wouldn’t even hear about dropping it. So John had had no other choice but to retrieve his wand. Once he had done it, he couldn’t help it but to use it. First, it were some minor spells – _Alohomora_ , _Lumos_ and so on. Of course, he was very careful to use magic only when nobody would notice it. But this night he and Sherlock were stalking a house where a boy would be celebrating his eleventh birthday. Devil wanted that Sherlock actually picked to watch a child who, as John had noticed, actually possessed some magical abilities.

John had prayed in his mind that this kid actually will be left alone by the serial killer. But he hadn’t been so lucky. He had noticed two men appariting in the back alley. He needed to act quickly, because Sherlock often behaved unexpectedly, and this time it could end badly. First, he needed to get away from Sherlock.

“I need to use a loo. Will you be OK here by yourself for a moment?” All the response John got was a grumpy sound, but it was enough.

John hurried into an alley where neither Sherlock nor the two wizards would be able to see him. He pulled out his wand from his sleeve and pointed it at the child’s house.

“ _Morsmorde_!” he shouted as a green light burst from the tip of his wand and created Dark Mark above the house.

John used to cast this spell a lot in his past, and knew what reaction it would evoke. He hoped that the two wizards would flee from the place scared that now aurors would be arriving here. John only hoped that he would be able to run away to a safe place before that happens. He knew he wouldn’t be so lucky the moment he heard a loud crack about fifty meters from the place he was standing. He also knew he was utterly fucked when he recognized the messy-haired auror with a bolt-shaped scar on his forehead. Without thinking he ran, and that was exactly how he got himself in the messy situation that resulted in him hiding in a trash container.

Minutes passed and John finally convinced himself that Potter wouldn’t come back. His legs stopped trembling, so he could at least stand up and get out from the damn dumpster. The man was too scared to use magic, thus he used his own strength to pull himself up and get out. His shoulder protested but the adrenaline which was still pumping through his veins lessened the pain.

As John stood next to the trash container he began to wonder what to do next. Going home wasn’t an option because Sherlock was still around there somewhere. Surely he noticed the strange symbol in the sky and most likely was trying now to solve the mystery of its sudden appeaarance. Maybe police also was already at the almost-crime scene. And a handful of undercover aurors probably too. John’s only option now was to find his flatmate, but before that he needed to come up with a lie that would actually fool Sherlock. A task almost impossible to accomplish.

“John!” His heart skipped a beat. Of course he was so lucky to actually be found by Sherlock at the moment.

“Sherlock, I…” He stopped in midsentence because he noticed that the genius detective was currently analyzing him. Saying anything at this point wouldn’t help him. John braced himself for the blow, but tried to soothe his anxiety with the belief that his friend, while trying to understand the situation, wasn’t taking magic or anything supernatural into consideration.

“What was that thing in the sky?” John tried to drag away Sherlock’s attention. It must have worked because the detective blinked and then frowned.

“I don’t know. I assume it was some kind of projection which was supposed to either scare the murderer or to notify the police. Maybe both. Or a job done by an accomplice to warn the murder which would mean that they had spotted us.” John stared at his friend with opened mouth.

“Amazing.” He said. This time, however, John wasn’t praising Sherlock’s deduction skill but the ability to cast away without any problem anything supernatural.

Sighing, John let go of the rest of his worries and once again assumed the role of a muggle. He learned from Sherlock that shortly after the Mark appeared in the sky, the police came. Unfortunately, his friend wasn’t allowed to investigate the case any further by some strange-looking, divorced policeman who, according to Sherlock, had serious problems with drinking. John assumed that it must have been an auror. Both of them were also told to come to a police station and testify. The eccentric detective hadn’t agreed to talk to anyone excepted Lestrade, so at least John didn’t have to worry about running into the aurors. He knew that they would recognize him immediately. In the Wizarding World his wanted posters were most likely still decorating the busiest roads and bars.

John and Sherlock started to walk towards the main road. Only then the shorter man noticed that he smelled funny.

“I need to shower before we go to the station.” He said.

Sherlock didn’t respond, just kept observing the road. His eyes shone as he spotted a taxi. He waved to it and as both of them entered the car, he told the cabbie their home address. So he was listening after all.

The trip home was uneventful. Both men were deep in thought and didn’t exchange even a word with each other. John was still thinking about what would have happened were he caught in that alley. And Sherlock was trying to solve the puzzle of tonight’s events. From the frown that marked his forehead, he wasn’t making much progress.

Two hours later, John and Sherlock entered Lestrade’s office. Before the man could open his mouth to greet them, Sherlock started:

“Murderer is a member of a gang or a cult. The later seems more probable, though. It’s also almost certain that he doesn’t work alone. The projection we saw tonight above that house probably was made by one of his accomplices. It was a warning about the police or maybe about us if we were spotted.” The consulting detective took a deep breath and continued talking with his monotonous tone that only barely betrayed that he was actually very interested in the case.

“The symbol appeared shortly after John had left and then he ran into the murderer or into his partner. He was then chased and hid himself in the trash container. The suspects must have run away, and cleverly I must add, because the whole area was surrounded.” As Sherlock was speaking he was looking John in the eyes, as if trying to read something out of them. John congratulated himself for not flinching. As he turned his head, he noticed that Lestrade was looking at him with worried expression on his face.

“But why would the murderer chase John? Wouldn’t it be easier for him to pretend to be a passer-by?” Detective Inspector turned his head to Sherlock.

“Panic makes people behave illogically.” John said before Sherlock had any chance to open his mouth. Lestrade looked at him and nodded. The War for Blood Purity, as John used to call it, often made him witness illogical behavior of people who were scared or in panic. He even behaved illogically a few hours ago. He had taken a great risk with the rabbit and it was a real miracle that it worked.

“John, have you seen anything that would be of use?” Lestrade asked. The question startled John who was deep in thought. He couldn’t focus, but he hardly could be blamed for it.

“No, sorry. Only that the man was wearing a long coat or maybe a robe…” Sherlock’s eyes flashed.

“A robe?” He asked not expecting a confirmation. He furrowed his eyebrows and appeared to be thinking about something.

“It would fit your theory about the cult, Sherlock” Lestrade pointed out. Sherlock ignored him. The man sighed, being already used to that kind of treatment.

“You didn’t see the weapon either?” The Detective Inspector asked John hopefully. The investigation was going really slowly and the man was hungry for any information that would let them make any progress.

“I’m sorry…” John started but Sherlock cut him in.

“What weapon? The autopsy clearly showed that all the victims died of natural causes. Beside the strange carvings, which had been done post mortem, there were no bruises, cuts or any other marks that would indicate the use of any weapon. I told you before that we are dealing with some kind of drug or poison.” Sherlock’s tone clearly suggested that the man believed to be dealing with an idiot.

Greg Lestrade knew better than to argue or get offended. While dealing with Mr Holmes one needed to have skin as thick as steel.

“Would you mind to make a full testimony? Donovan would…” The DI started but Sherlock cut him off.

“Absolutely not!” After that declaration the man stormed out from the office. John nodded at Greg and quickly left too.

As both men were walking through the corridor towards the exit, John was looking around nervously, wondering if maybe some of the aurors actually came to the station.

“Something is not right about this case.” Sherlock said pulling him out from his paranoid thoughts.

“What else is not right beside a sicko who murders innocent kids?” John asked. Sherlock clicked his tongue.

“That is actually the least important thing. I can’t understand what would be the murderer’s motive. Even if we are dealing with a cult, there is something that doesn’t fit the picture. “ John didn’t have a comment to that statement.

“I need more data.” John was certain that he didn’t like what Sherlock was just implying. “We have to pick another kid and watch their house.” Yep. John didn’t like it at all. But he could have guessed that Sherlock would want, after tonight’s events, to repeat the stakeout.

“John, hurry up! Let’s go home and pick another house!” The prospect of hunting a murderer again visibly cheered Sherlock up, which made John smile unconsciously.

“But first let’s get something to eat. All that running deprived us both of energy.” John said in his doctor voice. Sherlock rolled his eyes and said:

“Dull.” The shorter man knew better than to be offended.

“How about that Chinese restaurant that you like?” The offer seemed to please Sherlock because he said nothing. And as they exited the building he turned towards the path which led to the restaurant.

John was tense during the rest of the evening. He was observing his surroundings like a hawk for even the littlest signs of magic. The poor man almost got a heart attack when the Knight Bus passed them right in front of the restaurant. If Sherlock noticed that something was wrong with his friend, which he probably did, then he said nothing about it.

In the end, nothing extraordinary happened for the rest of the night. John hoped that Potter hadn’t recognized him and just had thought that he was some dark wizard who cooperated with the murderers of the young mudbloods.

The peace returned to Baker Street. Well, if chasing criminals and doing weird experiments with Sherlock could be called peaceful. John decided to not use magic at all, at least for a few months. Lying low was the smartest course of action which seemed to work out just fine.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. It Will Never Be Normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's past seems to haunt him.

 

Weeks passed since the incident with the Dark Mark and nothing extraordinary happened. Even the murders of the muggleborn soon-to-be-wizards ceased. John suspected that it was connected with the aurors’ ambush at the crime scene. It seemed that John unknowingly might have interfered with a trap set by the aurors and as a result he helped the murderers escape.

The only thing that was unusual in the flat on the 221B Baker Street was that John very often got lost in thoughts. The man reminisced about his past, and was very often thinking about his childhood and career as Voldemort’s servant. As a pureblood wizard born to an old family with a motto “ _Dum vivimus, vivamus_ ” meaning “while we live, let us live”, John very early has been taught about the culture, history and traditions of wizards. The motto wasn’t present before the XVII century, the times when witch-hunts were widely practiced in Europe. The Watsons lost many family members because of that. One of the greatest wizarding families in England in about a century got almost wiped out. Families such as Malfoys, Potters and Lestranges hid abroad before the real hunts started. Blacks and Prewetts had so strongly guarded properties that all they had to do was to hid in their own homes. The rest were living in constant fear.

John remembered his grandfather telling him a story about how it all begun. Many muggleborn wizards were practicing magic without caring about being noticed. That’s how the rumors about the existence of magic started centuries ago. But it was mostly harmless. Wizards could easily erase memories, disapparate and use various spells to defend themselves. But as more and more muggles witnessed magic, they started to crave it. And finally in the XIV century a few muggleborn wizards created an artifact that could suck the magic from the wizard and through it let the non-magical people use it. The item got in hands of the Pope and that’s how the hunts begun. The worst thing was that the artifact sucked the whole magic from wizards, leaving them nothing but defenseless squibs. Hundreds of wizard in Europe died such way till the artifact got destroyed much later in the XVIII century.

Since that time many pureblooded families made sure to hide themselves from muggles. New protection spells were invented and generally wizards didn’t appear often in places where the non-magical people resided. Young muggleborn children were no longer allowed to be raised by their parents after their eleventh birthday. Any accidental magic that happened to them and had been noticed by muggles was quickly covered by special units created by the Ministry of Magic. Those who wanted to return to muggle world after finishing their studies, needed to swear a secrecy oath. The wizards became nearly paranoid, but they had good reasons to be that way.

John couldn’t be more proud of his ancestors who contributed in creating better protection for wizards. Upon his eleventh birthday he left for Hogwarts where he was selected into Slytherin. It wasn’t really a surprise for anybody. The boy was smart, level-headed and very proud. Besides there was a tendency that pureblood wizards ended in this house. Before it didn’t really matter, but since the rise of Voldemort, everybody put in this house was treated by the rest as Dark Wizards.

Well, it wasn’t as if the Watsons didn’t support Voldemort. They and most of the English pureblood families had good reasons to do it. Especially since the last two Ministers of Magic were muggleborns and they were forcing laws that not only threatened the safety of wizards once again, but also that were putting restrictions on blood magic, calling it dark. It was an obvious provocation because every wizard who finished their schooling knew that blood magic was the most basic and traditional kind of magic used by the pureblood wizards since the beginning of their existence. All the sacrifices made were voluntary. For muggleborns it may seemed to be illogical, brutal and even pointless, but it was the source of pride for many families and suddenly restricting it wasn’t a smart move.

When Voldemort rose to power many had fallen under his charm. The charismatic man about whose background no one seemed to know a thing, perfectly understood the purebloods, their fears and hopes. He convinced many that to prevent another exposure a war was necessary. Half-bloods, muggleborn and muggle-lovers wouldn’t step down, no matter what arguments purebloods put forward. And then the Minister introduced a law that all dark artifacts should be handed over and destroyed, so many families protested and joined Voldemort in order to protect their legacy.

The clash of cultures, brought by the muggleborns had to end in a serious conflict. John, after graduating, joined Voldemort and actively fought for the purebloods rights. The murders, kidnappings, tortures – he wasn’t at first ready for that. But soon he understood that both sides of the conflict used similar methods. It was a war. It was brutal and it required sacrifices.

Thanks to John’s amazing medical abilities, he was able to rise high in Voldemort’s ranks and enter the inner circle. He rarely went on outdoor missions. Mostly he was dealing with the injured wizards that returned from the battles. Sometimes, when the hostages were brought in for interrogation he would make sure that they hadn’t died before they provided the information.

Something changed when the Dark Lord heard about the prophecy. All his attention was focused on finding a child. And soon after that he was defeated by a year old baby. John was in shock and if it wasn’t for Lucius Malfoy, he probably would be sentenced a lifetime in Azkaban. Malfoy helped many purebloods get an alibi. Especially since without their leader they couldn’t work out a course of action. Some of them wanted to continue attacks on the muggleborns and blood-traitors, others wanted to attack the Ministry and seize political power, the rest simply gave up.

For the next thirteen years John worked in St Mungo’s and became a mediwizard. After hours he was working with other ex-Death Eaters who were trying to push laws restricting contacts with muggles. But without much success. As the so-called “Light Side” won, new laws were forced and random house raids became the new nightmare for pureblooded families. The activists who fought for the tradition, culture and safety suddenly got called the murderes, criminals and the devil’s incarnates, even though both sides of the conflict had casualties.

And just when John began to give up, Dark Lord returned. Hope returned with him. Not everybody arrived at the summons, but that could be understood easily. Many families left England, other were too scared to stand against the Ministry which strength grew to unimaginable levels. But John wanted to do something for his people, for the children that he might have in the future. He wanted the next generation to remember the rich and beautiful culture and traditions of the old wizards, but it was all in vain. Voldemort was obsessed with Potter. All the battles, attacks, kidnappings were done in order to catch the boy. John begun to understand that his Lord was a madman who didn’t care about the cause anymore. He doubted that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named ever cared about it. Later his suspicions got confirmed as he started torturing his own men for incompetence. Before it happened very rarely.

The second war was a torture for everybody. But the Death Eaters couldn’t simply leave. Their lives and the lives of their families would be in danger. So the war no one really believed in continued. It was painfully slow and when the Battle of Hogwarts ended everything, John was actually relieved.

He learned that his Lord, who supposedly was the leader of all the purebloods, was a half-blood himself. He was driven by the hatred towards the muggles that raised him and towards his muggle father who had abandoned him and his mother. John felt cheated and completely defeated. He left Wizarding World just as the hunts for Voldemort’s supporters began. There was no longer a place for him in that world. So he hid his wand and left his magical heritage behind believing that he would never return to that life again.

And now, he was actually missing his old life: the feeling of magic surrounding him, spells, potions and magical artifacts. He even missed the war and the battles. But thanks to Sherlock he never got bored and the adrenaline pumped through his veins more often than not. The life he had now was good and he wouldn’t want to trade it for anything. But still the magic was calling out to him and John found it harder and harder to ignore.

“John? John! Are you listening?” Sherlock’s excited but also annoyed voice brought him back from his thoughts.

“Wa.. What?” The taller man smiled now that he finally had his attention.

“A case! A serial killer here in London! 3 bodies found so far, but we can expect more. Lestrade said that there is something unusual about the bodies. There is a fresh one waiting for us, so quickly! Let’s go!” Sherlock sounded as a child who just was about to go on a trip to Disneyland. Maybe other people would be taken aback by his attitude, but John didn’t really mind it.

On the contrary, Sherlock’s reactions amused John, now that he knew the man better. After all these years, he didn’t find them boring. He got almost equally excited, mind you. So he quickly got up from his chair and grabbed his coat. He eyed his boots reluctantly. They weren’t really comfortable but at least they were warm. And during the cases Sherlock often decided to go to unexpected places, so with the winter approaching John decided to put them on.

“John? Are you coming?” Sherlock shouted from downstairs. Before he wouldn’t have waited for his flatmate. He often used to forget about the doctor’s existence when the cases were especially interesting. But it all changed, John assumed, after Mary and the child had died. Sherlock has been unexpectedly supportive and extra careful around his friend. And for months he had made sure that John wasn’t bored for even a moment. He even took the most boring cases to keep the doctor’s mind from the tragedy that happened. John was really thankful for that. If it weren’t for his friend, he didn’t know what he might have done. Maybe he would have walked into the Diagon Alley and let himself get caught. At that time Dementor’s Kiss seemed to be actually a tempting offer.

John promised himself that he would do anything to ensure Sherlok’s happiness. It wasn’t really an easy task, taking the man’s fondness of the most dangerous cases into consideration, but the wizard didn’t complain. He would protect his friend from any harm, even if he needed to put his own life on the stake.

………………

The crime scene was an abandoned storehouse located in the middle of nowhere. John almost couldn’t believe that there was such a vast empty space in London. As they entered the building, they spotted Detective Inspector Lestrade, clearly waiting for them.

“Where?” Sherlock asked without any greeting.

“Over there.” Greg pointed to his left where a couple of policemen and analysts were gathered. Sherlock in quick steps went to the place where the body of the victim was placed. John nodded in greeting at the detective and quickly followed.

The view that welcomed him made him stare in amazement. The murderer must have thought of himself to be an artist. The body looked like a grotesque sculpture. It was a woman's body, decapitated and put in a meditating position. On the victim’s lap was placed her head with gauged eyes. John looked around to find them, but they were nowhere in sight. Another interesting thing John noted about the body was the fact that it was painted gold.

“Buddha.” Sherlock said quietly.

“Sorry, what?” John turned his eyes away from the body and looked at his friend.

“The body is supposed to look like a decapitated Buddha. It symbolizes the fall of the religion. The murderer clearly is a part of some sect and tries to show that only what he believes in is true.” Sherlock explained not taking his eyes away from the victim.

“The previous two bodies found were also decapitated. The first one was crucified, the second was put in a tub filled with pig’s blood. Obviously, references to Christianity and Islam.” He continued and took out from his coat’s pocked a few photos which he handed to John.

Those were the photos of the previous victims. The bodies were, just like this one, painted gold. John didn’t have to be a genius to guess that they were killed by the same person. All of them were women, but beside that there was not really any connection, as far as he could tell. One of them was blonde, the other two had brown hair but their body shapes were totally different.

“He picks them randomly.” Sherlock said as if he was reading John’s mind.

“Like an artist he chooses the ones that would suit best his vision. See the bruises on her wrists and neck?” he pointed at the body. “He tied her up. She was still alive when he brought her here. Look at the floor, scratch marks. She must have fought with all her might. The eye sockets are torn badly, so he removed the eyes while she was still alive. Took it as a memento.” The people who were listening to Sherlock’s explanation looked horrified.

“So who are we looking for?” asked Lestrade who finally joined the group.

“A man between 35 – 50, single, muscular, belonging to some sect, most likely the leader of it or some high priest. Graduated from art school. The way the body is painted clearly points to familiarity with ochre. And look, the job is perfectly done, there aren’t any smudges.” Sherlock said. Then he took out his mobile phone and walked out without another word. John bid the others goodbye and followed him quickly.

“So, what do we do now?” He asked when they exited the warehouse.

“Go home and research the most active sects in London in the last year.” Sherlock answered not taking his eyes away from his phone for even a moment. It seemed that he already started doing the research.

………..

John signed as he watched the news. He lost hope that he would find there any clues towards the murderer. Just now the speaker was talking about some thousands years old sarcophagus stolen from the British Museum, so John decided to turn the telly off.

“I got it!” Sherlock exclaimed as he rose from the sofa he was laying on.

“Got what?” John asked patiently.

“Where and when the next body will be found! Come on! We have about two hours to get there in time and catch the murderer.” The consulting detective grabbed John’s coat and throw it at him. Then he took his own, pocketed his mobile phone and walked out of the flat.

“Where are we going?” John asked when he finally joined him outside.

“Bexley. There’s an abandoned storehouse.” Sherlock said and waved at a nearing taxi. As both men entered it, John asked:

“How do you know that the murderer will be there today?”

“The first victim was crucified on All Saints Day, the second died on Eid al-Adha, and the third on Bodhi Day. Today is Karthikai Deepam.” John looked puzzled at the last name of the holiday.

“Hindu holiday.” Sherlock explained shortly assuming that John wouldn’t need more details.

“Any why the storehouse in Bexley?” John inquired.

“Today there is a gathering of Callieu sect. Couldn’t be a coincidence.” John heard a bit about this sect, that it became quite popular among young people, but he didn’t know whether it was dangerous or not. He decided to trust Sherlock’s judgement, however. The man was rarely wrong.

……………

When they arrived near the storehouse, John had a sense of déjà vu. After thinking about it for a moment, he came to a conclusion that the sense of similarity was caused by the fact the scenery was almost identical to the one at the previous crime scene. Once again there was not a sign of a living soul in the neighborhood.

“He’s here.” Sherlock said and pointed to a black Honda parked nearby.

“The murderer?” John asked, already knowing the answer. He unconsciously reached for the gun hidden in his trousers. As he touched the cold metal he calmed almost immediately. He also had his wand hidden in his sleeve, but it didn’t give him the feeling of safety like it used to.

Sherlock without another word walked towards the entrance of the storehouse. John quickly followed, looking around carefully.

The place was dark, no sounds could be heard. The men walked deeper inside. As they were already quite far away from the exit, the door suddenly closed behind them with a loud thud.

John’s first reaction was to take out his gun. Sherlock stopped and looked around. Both men were standing in silence and listening for any noises or sudden movements.

“There.” Sherlock pointed to their left and quickly rushed over there with John right behind him.

“That’s…” John didn’t finish his sentence. Before him was the body of a young, not older than 25, blonde woman. It was already painted gold, but the head was still intact, though the eyes were gauged and nowhere in sight. It seemed that they have interrupted the murderer. Maybe if they were 10 minutes earlier, they would be able to save the girl.

Next to the body laid a casket. No, it wasn’t a casket. The shape was different.

“A sarcophagus from the British Museum.” Sherlock explained. John was confused. What was that thing doing here?

“Hinduism and ancient Egyptian religion have a lot in common. Only the burial is very different. The body was supposed to be put in there as an act of mockery towards the religion.” Sherlock explained briefly.

John was about to crouch and take a better look at the body, but then he heard footsteps, so he quickly turned around. Sherlock was walking towards someone or something, it was impossible to tell because the place was dark.

“Sherlock!” John called after his friends but was either not heard or ignored. He blindly began to walk towards the noise and jumped when he heard a loud thud, as if something or someone was hit with a dull object. Without a second thought John hurried to the place where the noise came from and held his gun in front of himself, ready to shoot.

As he walked closer he noticed a silhouette of a person lying of the floor. He tried his best to see the person’s face and just as he recognized it as his flatmate’s, someone grabbed him from behind and hit his hand, making his gun fall to the ground. The attacker kicked the gun away when John tried to bend over and reach for it.

Both men were wrestling with each other. John assumed that the one attacking him was the murderer who probably carried the weapon on himself. But more important was the fact that Sherlock lied unmoving on the floor.

He needed to act fast. He hit the man with his head which made the attacker let him go and stumble a few steps backwards. This gave John enough time to hurry towards the lying man.

John quickly grabbed Sherlock’s hand and let out a relieved breath when he noticed that the pulse was still present. He checked quickly for the wounds, but found only a large bump on the back of his friend’s head. There was no blood, so the man wasn’t in any danger for now. Still he would need to be taken to the hospital for a checkup.

As soon as John made sure Sherlock is safe, he took out his wand and quietly cast _Lumos_. The faint light should help him locate the murderer. But there was no one in sight. The attacker probably hid himself in the shadows and waited for the best opportunity to attack. John needed to be smarter and faster than him.

As John was looking around, he noticed a slight movement to his right. He quickly pointed his wand at the place but nothing happened. Then there was another movement, closer to him and closer to Sherlock. John couldn’t risk that any more harm came to his best friend so he turned around and shouted:

“ _Expelliarmus_!” The spell hit the murdered and slammed him against the wall. John used quite a lot of strength while casting it, so there was a possibility that he killed the man. He wasn’t really feeling bad because of it. As he walked closer to check if the murderer was at least unconscious, he heard a loud crack.

A shiver ran through John’s spine and he gripped his wand tightly. His fingers turned white. Someone apparated to the storehouse and John would bet all his money that it was an auror and most likely Potter. It proved his theory that there had been put a locating spell on his wand but the ex-Death Eater had no time to think about it. He needed to run.

Almost wordlessly he cast Notice-Me-Not spell on himself and ran towards the exit. His advantage was that the auror apparated at the back of the storehouse, about 20 meters from the place John was standing now. The exit was about 40 meters ahead but John knew he could do it. At least he would try. There was nothing else he could do now.

“ _Immobulus_ ” John quickly cast at the unconscious murderer as he passed him. He believed that now Sherlock would be safe.

As doctor Watson ran with all his might, he heard footsteps behind him. The place was dark so it was no use turning around and seeing who was chasing him. He speed up and noticed that he had quite an advantage of distance. It would take at least 40 seconds for the auror to catch up with him deducing from the noise of the approaching footsteps.

As John arrived at the door, he quickly opened them and thanked God that they weren’t locked by the murderer. At the moment it didn’t occur to him that he could have used magic to open them if they really turned out to be locked. Living as a muggle for so long more often than not made him forget about magical solutions.

As the bit of the sunlight entered the storehouse John nearly got hit by a spell. It seemed that now the auror located him and was starting to throw spells.

John quickly exited the building and ran. Just then a black car very quickly came his way and stopped a few meters in front of him. The door opened and a familiar voice said:

“Get in, doctor Watson.” John didn’t have time to be shocked. He quickly got into the car and came face to face with Mycroft Holmes. He opened his mouth to say something but the other man was faster.

“My assistant will take care of the situation, doctor Watson.” As he said that, John quickly looked out of the window and noticed Anthea walking towards the storehouse. This time she wasn’t holding a mobile phone in her hand.

The car started moving then. John was still breathing quickly. He thought he might faint. He was still gripping his wand in his hands, not thinking about what Mycroft might think about it.

“Sherlock…” he started but the older of the Holmes brothers cut him in.

“Don’t worry. He will be all right.” John let go out a relieved breath and relaxed his back a little.

“Maybe you should put down your wand, so we can talk in a more… comfortable manner?” John stared at the man in shock. It was too much for him: the adrenaline, the running. The words uttered by Mycroft overbalanced the scale and John lost consciousness.

 

 

 


	3. An Unexpected Visit

 

“John! Wake up, John!” John furrowed his eyebrows as a very annoying sound was trying to divert his attention from a very pleasant dream.

“Dr Watson!” The harsh tone almost made John jump. He reluctantly opened his eyes and suddenly sat up seeing unfamiliar surroundings.

He was sitting on a leather sofa in an office that was bigger than his whole flat. He looked at the source of the annoying and stubborn voice and found out that it belonged to Mycroft Holmes.

“Are you feeling well, doctor Watson?” Mycroft asked him.

“Yes, but what happened?” John asked confused.

“You lost consciousness in the car. We brought you here, instead of the hospital because I assumed it was due to stress and fatigue, not something serious and requiring medical attention.” The man explained. Then he walked to the desk placed a few meter away from the sofa and sat on the chair in front of it.

“I thought you would prefer to talk to me in more… discreet environment.” Mycroft explained. John looked at him confused not really understanding what the man was implying. His memory was still fuzzy, but then it all rushed back to him: the storehouse, the murderer, Sherlock hurt…

“Sherlock!” He shouted and quickly got up. A dark spots appeared in front of his eyes.

“Please sit down, Sherlock is well. He is now at the police station giving a testimony for today’s events.” Mycroft explained in monotonous tone.

John sat down and relaxed. He had no reason to not believe Mycroft, especially that he was the number one overprotective brother in England.

Then he began to remember the other events of the day: the fight with the killer, the auror… the auror! John remembered how he desperately ran and then the car… and Mycroft telling him he knew.

“You know.” John said looking at Mycroft with wide eyes.

“Yes, I am aware of your participation in the Wizarding War, Dr Watson.” The man answered understating what John meant.

“Since when?” John was too shocked to form longer sentences.

“I knew from the very beginning. I work for the British Government and thus my brother would make a perfect leverage to get to me by unwanted personas. The moment I saw you walk through the threshold of 221B Baker Street I checked every information about you.” John wanted to comment at Mycroft’s paranoia but decided against it and keep on listening to the man’s explanation.

“The Ministry of Magic provided us with a database of the wanted criminals from their… your world. The Death Eaters such as you are placed at the very top of the list.” Mycroft’s eyes pierced John as if trying to look deep into his soul.

“If you knew from the very beginning then why did you let me move in with Sherlock?” John asked.

“You saved Sherlock’s live. Your unwavering loyalty to my brother from the very first moment convinced me that you aren’t a threat.” John remembered his first, very strange meeting with Mycroft and the events at Roland Kerr College.

“And of course I checked your previous flat. I discovered you weren’t in possession of your wand.” Hearing about his wand made John unconsciously grab his left arm to check if it was still here. He let out a relieved breath when he found it here.

“I kept observing you. Some of my employees were watching to see if you were in touch with your previous acquaintances.” Mycroft continued his explanation without commenting John’s nervous gesture.

“Still, don’t you believe it was naïve of you to trust a wanted criminal? Do you know what kind of people Death Eaters are? I believe the Ministry of Magic would provide the British Government with a proper warning.” John would only fully believe Mycroft’s words if the answer to this question would be plausible.

“Do you take me for a common citizen, Dr Watson?” Mycroft asked icily as if John has just now offended him. The question was rhetorical because without waiting for a reply he kept on talking.

“I have seen many wars and I have learned many things from them. The world is not black and white. There are no evil and good sides in the war. Both sides fight for their own beliefs, goals. They believe in their cause enough to kill for it and even die for it. So of course I don’t believe when the winning side of the war hunting for their opponents states they are the devil’s incarnate. I am not naïve. I am not stupid, Dr Watson.”

“I killed and tortured people, Mycroft.” John admitted quietly.

“And the Ministry and Aurors didn’t? People who have never seen peace and who have never seen war have different values. Only those standing at the top determine what’s wrong and what’s right. They say that justice will prevail. But of course it will. Whoever wins the war becomes justice.” John stared at Mycroft with open mouth. The words held a great conviction but also a feeling of experience.

“We wanted… I wanted the best for the next generations of purebloods. That they wouldn’t have to be ashamed of their roots. That they would be able to practice their ancestors’ magic.” John explained. Mycroft nodded at him and got up.

“You don’t need to explain anything to me, John. Frankly, I am not interested in your past now that I know that you are not a threat.” He walked to the sofa John was sitting at.

“I will keep your secret, even from Sherlock… or should I say especially from him. Also I will try my best to point the aurors’ attention elsewhere but I expect you to lie low for the next couple of weeks, or even months.” John nodded. He couldn’t even imagine what would Sherlock say if he ever learned the truth.

“I don’t want to be rude, but I believe that you would need to leave pretty soon, Dr Watson. My assistant tried her best to keep auror Potter occupied but I expect his visit very soon. It would be best if you weren’t present during it, don’t you agree?” John paled but nodded. He got up from the sofa, this time without any troubles. He got his nerves under control.

“Thank you, Mycroft.” Both men shook hands and without another word John left the office.

\----------

As John walked out of the building he stood for a second and wondered what to do next. He decided to return home. Maybe Sherlock was already there.

The trip home took him almost half an hour by taxi. During that time John wondered how would he explain to Sherlock why he had disappeared. He forgot to ask Mycroft if he provided Sherlock with any plausible explanation, so he texted him.

“Just say that his archenemy abducted you.” John stared at the reply for a few minutes. At first he thought it was a joke, but then it wouldn’t be the first time that the black car picked John up from someplace and took him to Mycroft.

As John entered his flat at Baker Street he quickly noticed his flatmate lying on the couch. His hand was covering his eyes, so he couldn’t tell if the man was asleep or awake.

“What did Mycroft want?” Awake then.

“There was a case he wanted to talk about.” John lied. He hated himself every time he had to lie to his best friend. The only consolation was that the truth would put Sherlock in danger.

As John expected, Sherlock didn’t ask question about details. He hated working for his brother and took cases from him only when it was absolutely necessary.

As the detective sat up John noticed a large bump on his head. He quickly kneeled before Sherlock and examined it. It didn’t seem that bad but Sherlock’s eyes were a bit glassed and his look unfocused.

“We should go to the hospital.” John said gently knowing that Sherlock hated checkups.

“No. I’m fine. It’s just a bump.” As expected, the man protested in a tone that left no room for arguments.

“Sherlock, head injuries shouldn’t be ignored. Of all people, you should know that best. What if the injury would cause damage to your Mind Palace, hm?” John tried his best not to smile as Sherlock shot him a worried, if not a bit panicked, look.

“I have a business at Bart’s anyway.” John smiled at his friend and stood up. His knees protested. Another sign of the youth that was no longer here.

Sherlock also stood up and winced. It seemed that the pain he was feeling wasn’t a joke and the detective was just putting on a brave front.

……….

John looked nervously at his best friend as they were both sitting in the waiting room. There were still five people before it was Sherlock’s turn to see the doctor and they’ve been sitting there for half an hour. The detective was getting restless and bored. He already analysed everyone in the room very thoroughly. John needed to occupy him before the man fled from the hospital.

“So, what happened to the murderer?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“Dead. Hit his head pretty hard against the wall. Died immediately, unlike his victims.” Sherlock shoot John a look that stated that the man knew that he had something to do with the murderer’s demise.

“Good.” John said evenly. He wasn’t guilty at all. The man he killed was a beast and almost killed Sherlock. He would do the same thing again if the need arose.

“Phil made me give a testimony. I had to run away, so expect his patrol at Baker Street in few hours.” John blinked at the man. Who was Phil…. Oh!

“You mean Greg Lestrade?” John asked.

“Yeah, so his name is Greg?” John rolled his eyes. He could swear that Sherlock kept forgetting the DI’s name on purpose.

“That’s not funny. Besides Greg likes you. He let you go without testimonies for many cases before. Maybe this time would be the same?” Sherlock shook his head.

“No. His superiors will push him to have my full testimony. They need a clear report about what happened to the sarcophagus.” He explained.

“The sarcophagus?” John asked.

“The one at the crime scene.” John remembered now that Sherlock mentioned in the storehouse that it had been stolen from the British Museum.

“John, look!” John jumped in his seat startled by his friend’s sudden outburst.

“Where?! What?!” John looked around in search for anything, most likely dangerous, that Sherlock wanted him to see.

“Behind the desk. The blonde nurse.” John looked at the girl. She was a bit shorter than he was. Also, very pretty. There wasn’t anything suspicious about her. He also didn’t remember seeing her before.

“Single, 37 years old. Likes to ride a bicycle in the summer. Dislikes coffee, doesn’t smoke and is very tolerant.” Sherlock analysed the girl.

“Okay, so what?” John asked still clueless.

“She’s your type. Why won’t you go over there and ask her out? There is 94% chance that she will agree.” Now John got it. His friend was trying to encourage his dating habits again.

“I don’t want to.” John said simply. His voice wasn’t sad, because the man wasn’t feeling sad. He looked at the girl. She was his type, that was true. But he didn’t feel like dating anyone anymore.

“Mary wouldn’t…” Sherlock started gently but John cut him in.

“I know she wouldn’t mind. And I am not doing it because of her.” John said and looking at his friend’s doubtful face he decided to explain more clearly.

“I have everything I want now. I have a job, a couple of friends, an interesting hobby.” John looked pointedly at Sherlock. “I had been happily in love more than once and I think that was enough. I simply do not feel the need to date anymore. I am not really a husband material. It’s not that the time I had with Mary wasn’t pleasant, but it’s not what I want. I want to solve cases with you, face dangers. Domesticated is not really my thing.” Sherlock smiled gently at that. It seemed that he understood and accepted the reasoning.

“So you prefer living with me. People might talk.” Sherlock teased.

“People do little else.” John answered back.

………….

“Auror Potter, what a pleasure to see you.” Mycroft stood up from his chair in the office that only a few minutes before he had a conversation with John Watson. He walked over to the wizard and shook his hand.

“Nice to see you too, Mr Holmes.” The man answered pleasantly.

“What brings you here, if I might ask.” Mycroft asked looking as innocent as ever.

“Oh, you know perfectly well why I am here. Now if you would explain to me why did you help a Death Eater escape today?” Potter asked, the smile was still present on his lips.

“I don’t know what do you mean, Mr Potter. Please take a seat.” As Potter sat down on an armchair he studied Mycroft’s face.

“Then how would you explain today’s events? Your assistant was quite forceful in trying to stop me from my pursuit.” Mycroft looked carefully at the auror’s face but there wasn’t any trace of anger or displeasure. Either the man didn’t really care about today’s events for some reason or his acting skills were top class.

“The storehouse where you were present was a crime scene. The victim’s body was there together with the murderer and my brother.” Mycroft said.

“Your brother?” Potter blinked at that.

“My brother is a consulting detective and he was solving a case there. But got himself into trouble and I needed to help him.” Mycroft explained smiling.

“But that still doesn’t explain why you helped the Death Eater.” Potter stated.

“As I said before, I don’t know what you mean. I was not aware that there were any Death Eaters present. I simply helped my brother’s friend to get to the hospital because he was injured.” Mycroft lied smoothly.

“A friend?” Potter narrowed his eyes.

“And assistant. They have been solving crimes together for years. Caused lots of trouble for me, mind you. But that’s what little brothers do, don’t they?” Mycroft stopped smiling as it was tiring him, but his expression was still pleasant and friendly.

“I don’t have any siblings so I wouldn’t know.” Potter said. Mycroft blinked innocently.

“Oh. Yes, of course.” Of course, he knew that.

“So, would you explain to me the matter with a Death Eater? Is London in any danger?” Mycroft asked curiously.

“Not really. I am currently pursuing a wanted Death Eater who has been hiding since the War. Name John Watson. “ The auror explained.

“I’ve seen his name in the file the Ministry of Magic provided. So was he present at the storehouse today?” Mycroft asked. Potter took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

“Yes. I’ve put a tracing charm on his wand and each time he uses magic more powerful than common house spells I am notified of it and can track him.” Mycroft nodded in understanding.

“I’m afraid I can’t help you as I haven’t seen the man in person.” Mycroft said. Potter signed and got up.

“If that is the case, then pardon my intrusion, Mr Holmes. Though, if you ever caught a glimpse of this man contact me directly. Not the Ministry or Auror Department but me. Would you do that?” Mycroft found the request strange but didn’t comment on it. Instead he smiled pleasantly and also got up.

“Of course, Mr Potter.” Both men shook their hands and the auror disappeared without even bothering to leave the office.

Mycroft sat in the armchair and sighed. Staring off into the space he hoped that for now John Watson would be safe. Sherlock needed him so his top priority was to protect him, even from the Wizarding Ministry.

……..

“Sherlock, where is the milk? I bought three cartons yesterday.” John asked as he searched the fridge.

It’s been three days since Sherlock got a checkup. There was nothing really wrong with the wound. John knew that, but at least the man got thoroughly checked up, something that he normally wouldn’t let John do. The doctor told the detective to rest for a few days, so instead of running around London and solving cases, Sherlock was confined at home. Anyone who knew Sherlock at least a little bit would know that the man didn’t like it at all.

“I used it for an experiment.” Came a reply from the living room. John rolled his eyes and left the kitchen.

“And how am I supposed to prepare dinner without it?” He asked. Sherlock didn’t bother to reply. John signed and got his coat.

“I am going to Tesco for milk. Do you want anything?” He asked.

“Some pork, please.” John blinked.

“Why would you want pork? I thought you dislike it.” He asked his friend.

“For an experiment, obviously.” Sherlock said. He was sitting in his armchair and writing something furiously on John’s laptop.

“Okay. I’ll get it. See you.” After saying that John left the flat and almost collided with Mrs Hudson who was climbing up the stairs with a tray.

“You’re leaving, John? And I was just going to bring you some cookies.” She said smiling. John smiled back.

“I’ll be back shortly. Just need to go to Tesco for a bit.” He explained, nodded at the woman and left.

……….

It was a sale day so John spent in the shop more time that he intended too and bought more things that he was able to carry comfortably. The bags were heavy, so he needed to stop and rest for a moment every once in a while.

As he reached the Baker Street he noticed that the lights weren’t on. John immediately got worried because that would mean that something happened or that Sherlock left taking advantage of his prolonged absence.

As he climbed up the stairs his nose started to itch. The feeling was very familiar but John couldn’t quite remember why. As he opened the door the sign that welcomed him made his knees buckle.

There in the middle of his living room were standing Death Eaters. A four of them, to be more precise. They had on black cloaks, but not masks. They smiled as John walked in reaching for his wand.

“Oh, don’t worry Watson. We’re not here to fight.” One of them explained. As John looked closer at the man he recognized his school friend – Aaron Harvey.

“Harvey.” John said aloud, still in shock.

“Yes, old friend. It’s me. You should also recognize our other three friends: Nott, Coyne and Norwood.” John looked at the faces of Harvey’s companions and indeed he recognized them from the Death Eater meetings. Although he didn’t remember to exchange with them more than a couple of words in total.

“We have a business matter to discuss with you. We’re sorry for appearing so unexpectedly.” Harvey smirked and pointed at the couch. There sitting on it was Sherlock. His eyes were open but his whole body was unmoving. And at the floor lied a still body of Mrs Hudson. John couldn’t believe his eyes. He felt as if water was filling up his lungs, he couldn’t breathe. He just stared.

 

 


	4. Sometimes a goodbye is the only option

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It seems that the life John built for himself in the last few years, is now under a serious threat.

* * *

 

  1. **Sometimes a goodbye is the only option**



 

John couldn’t tear his eyes from the unmoving body of Sherlock. His blood turned cold as he gripped his wand tight in his hand. He let out a heavy breath and glared at the intruders. If the looks alone could kill then those four Death Eaters would be dead in a matter of seconds.

“Oh! You still have it in you, don’t you?” Harvey teased, a smirk present on his face. The men seemed to be unconcerned about the anger that was rising in John.

“We’ve decided to drop by. You know, a visit after the years. We wanted to hold a small reunion…” Norwood drawled in a mocking tone.

“Yeah, and it was just our luck that the time we decided to drop by, you weren’t home. Just your pets were here, and as they seemed to be not behaving themselves, we needed to take care of them.” Harvey smiled and pointed towards the bodies.

“Harvey…” John warned. He noticed that Sherlock’s eyes were moving frantically. It seemed that he was only hexed with a _Pertificus Totalus_. The doctor’s knees almost gave out in relief. He didn’t know what he would have done if Sherlock really had been killed. Still, the relief didn’t overpower the feeling of annoyance and anger towards the unwelcome guests.

“Easy there, Johny. Don’t fret. We know that those two are your cover-ups. Though, I have to congratulate you. The way you managed to escape the Ministry and aurors was ingenious.” Harvey’s tone of speaking turned less mocking and more friendly.

“So….” Coyne’s deep voice echoed through the room and his eyes turned to the armchairs. John signed resignedly and waved his wand toward the furniture. In a place where the two armchairs stood, now were two large sofas. As the doctor hid his wand back in his sleeve, he quickly shot a look at Sherlock, whose eyes were no longer moving everywhere, but instead were fixed on the new furniture in quite a visible shock.

“What do you want?” John asked. He wasn’t in a mood for pleasantries. His life was becoming a mess. First Potter, now them. It seemed that he wouldn’t be able to escape his past.

“Don’t be so cold. Aren’t you happy to see us?” Norwood asked with a smile and waved his wand producing a pot and a few cups of tea. The intruders sat on the sofas looking comfortable and at ease.

“I am glad you are alive and well. But you surprised me. And the times we live in are not good for surprises.” John’s words carried a meaning that didn’t need further explanation to the wizards present. This time they were the prey and the hunters wouldn’t stop till they apprehended them. And their lives wasn’t the only thing at stake.

“We know, of course we know. I am fucking tired of this hiding and running away. I commend you for a good idea to hide among muggles, but I wouldn’t be able to live with the vermin.” Harvey shoot Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson a look full of disgust.

“John always had a high tolerance. Remember the mudbloods he needed to prepare for another round of interrogation after Bella had some fun with them? The memory still makes my stomach churn.” Coyne’s words provoked a burst of laughter from his colleagues. John only grimaced. He didn’t like to be reminded of the darker moments of his career as a Death Eater.

“Why are you here?” He asked impatiently. He couldn’t give in to small talks while Sherlock was lying there petrified and probably listening intently to every word that had been spoken. John could only imagine what had been going on in the detective’s head at the moment.

“So impatient, so impatient…. but very well. There has been a small problem with some of our ex friends. They’ve been trying to return to the old ways and stirred some trouble with the Ministry.” Harvey always failed at being subtle, even at school he was horrible at it. So some of the Death Eaters that managed to escape Ministry tried to return to their activities, it seemed.

“They’ve been targeting young mudbloods. A simple, but quite efficient method of working they established. They would monitor some parts of the country for the letters from Hogwarts. The moment they noticed the owl, they went into action.” Nott’s explanation made John understand that what he was talking about was actually the case of the murdered kids with the Dark Mark carved on their chests. The case he and Sherlock investigated some time before.

“It’s not that we oppose such activities, but they have drawn the attention of aurors to us. And those bastards became quite efficient in hunting us down. A few had been caught already, though they weren’t related to the recent attacks. With Malfoy on the Ministry side, even the best safe houses seem to be not safe.” That piece of information actually got John’s interest.

“Malfoy?” He asked.

“Oh, you don’t know? Their youngest actually became an auror. He is quite chummy with Potter and together they are playing a witch hunt.” Harvey explained.

“But how is that possible? Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater just like us. He has a mark, I was at his initiation.” John said and he unconsciously grabbed his arm where his own mark was hidden from view.

“That sneaky bastard actually helped Potter in some way or other. Also Lucius’ wife lied to Dark Lord in order to protect that spectacled menace, can you believe it?” Nott’s voice became angry but quickly he got hold of his temper and reached for a cup of tea. John could notice a resignation in his eyes. And not only in his. The other three men also looked as if there was no much hope left for them.

“Anyway, the hunts are now more intense than ever, so we decided to drop by and warn you.” Harvey said pleasantly.

“Warn me? But how did you find me? How did you know where I live? Do the aurors…” John’s voice towards the end became quite panicked. If the aurors found out where he lived, he would need to escape. He would need to leave Sherlock…

“Calm down, Watson. We found out by a chance. We happened to spot you a few weeks ago in London and decided to follow you. You know, to check up on you. If the aurors knew where you lived, they would probably have already made a move.” Harvey’s words calmed him a little. He turned his eyes to Sherlock and noticed that the man was looking back at him. He tried to reassure the immobilized man with his eyes alone, but he didn’t know if it had worked or not.

“We’re here to warn you and say goodbye, Watson.” That got John’s attention back to his guests.

“We’re leaving. There is no place for us in Britain anymore.” Harvey continued.

“But where do you intent to go?” John asked surprised.

“Russia. Can’t tell you more. You know, to be safe. It is better that you know as little as possible. Better for all of us.” Nott answered shooting a warning glare at Harvey who had opened his mouth, probably to tell John their exact destination.

“We’re going to be safe. But the same cannot be said about you, Watson. Maybe you could consider going with us? Our life could become all right again.” Harvey asked and got up from the sofa he was sitting at. His other companions followed.

“No thank you. Britain is my home.” And my life is all right – John added in his mind. Harvey looked a little disappointed but it seemed that he hadn’t truly believed that his friend would actually agree.

“I see. Well then, we need to go. Take care, mate. Don’t get yourself Kissed.” Harvey came closer to John and held out his hand. John grabbed it without thinking. It probably would be the last time he saw his friend.

“You too. I wish you the very best.” He said. His voice tight.

“Ready, boys?” Nott asked looking at his companions. Harvey nodded and disapparated without another word. Nott and Norwood followed shortly after that.

“Oh, yeah. _Finite Incantatem_!” Coyne waved his wand towards the two immobile muggles lifting the spell. After that he nodded at John and also disappeared from the flat.

John didn’t have time to think about the visit and what he had learned from it. He also didn’t have time to ponder about his former colleagues’ fate. He rushed towards his friend and the landlady in a hurry.

“Sherlock! Mrs. Hudson! Are you two all right?” He asked as he tried to help the older woman get on her feet.

“Oh dear, John. What was that? Who were those people? Why….” Mrs. Hudson started but John cut her in.

“Later, Mrs. Hudson. Now you need to sit down and calm yourself. I’ll make some tea, so please do as I say.” John didn’t dare to look at Sherlock who was trying to stand up. He was afraid of what he could see in his friend’s face. A look of betrayal? Disgust? Fear? Everything was possible with Sherlock Holmes and John wasn’t mentally prepared yet to face is friend. A bit like a coward, he quickly left for a kitchen.

 

* * *

 

 

“How did it go?” Malfoy asked amusedly looking at the displeasure painting his partner’s face. Harry Potter entered their office looking quite annoyed. He took off his coat and hanged it next to Malfoy’s.

“I hate dealing with that Holmes. If it wasn’t for him I would be able to catch Watson and now he has escaped again. It would be a pain to find him again, especially now that he knows that we track his wand.” Harry complained as he threw himself at his chair in front of a desk that was almost entirely covered by various documents and forms.

“Have you tried checking in a rabbit hole?” Malfoy teased.

“Oh, ha ha! Very funny. You would also get fooled by that rabbit, admit it!” Harry flushed a little. He had been an object of jokes since the night he mistook a magical rabbit for Watson.

“Maybe, maybe not. So what are you going to do know?” Malfoy asked. Harry closed his eyes and let out a tired sigh.

“ _We_ observe. Our only clue is that Watson appeared at the same place Holmes’ younger brother was investigating something. He’s a detective, by the way.” Malfoy raised an eyebrow hearing that. “Maybe there is some connection here.”

“Are you suggesting that Watson is in contact with _a muggle_?” Malfoy asked in disbelief.

“Maybe. Who knows. That’s the only clue we have for now. And it is high time you started moving your lazy ass. We’re both going to patrol London till we find Watson.” Harry opened his eyes and looked seriously at Malfoy.

“As you wish, you slave driver.” Malfoy agreed in a mocking tone. “But let’s start tomorrow. Today I need to relax.” Harry rolled his eyes but didn’t object. He had a feeling that Watson wouldn’t try leaving London in the near future. He would have done that the first time they came into contact. There must be something that keeps the guy in London. Harry really needed to organize his thoughts. Maybe there was something he missed or deemed as unimportant.

“But you’re still cooking tonight.” Harry said warningly. Malfoy only snorted in reply.

 


	5. Not a perfect solution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John needs to deal with the outcome of his resurfacing past.

Chapter 5

**Not a perfect solution**

* * *

 

 

As John was moving around the kitchen preparing tea, his mind was racing. Thousands of scenarios crossed his mind and yet, none of them was good enough. Briefly, he considered obliviating both Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson, but then he remembered that his wand was being tracked by the Ministry, and as soon as he cast a single _Obliviate_ , the flat would be stormed by aurors. Moreover, Sherlock probably wouldn’t be too happy about having some of his memories deleted for him. Such a thing would destroy they friendship completely. It would be beyond repair and John was willing to do anything to avoid that. Sherlock was the most important person in his life. He didn’t want him to be another person he lost.

As he put the kettle on, an idea struck him. He quickly grabbed his mobile phone and send a message to Mycroft:

_Had unexpected visitors. Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson know. What do I do?_

He didn’t have to wait long for a reply. Only a minute or so passed.

_I am on the way,_

_MH_

John let out a relieved sigh. He didn’t even know he was holding his breath. Mycroft was his only hope. However, the tea was almost ready and the man wouldn’t be able to arrive in the next 15 minutes. If he made it in half an hour, it would be actually a success. It was London after all.

But John underestimated Mycroft Holmes. It was _Mycroft Holmes_ after all. The man was entering the flat roughly five minutes after he texted John. The doctor (a mediwizard actually) was just about to bring tea into the living room when Mycroft arrived. And he wasn’t alone.

“I hope you don’t mind if a colleague of mine comes in. He would provide a great help to clear the situation that certainly caused some confusion for the present parties.” He said looking around the room. He was probably collecting data and making a damage control, thought John.

As he looked closely at the unknown man that entered his flat, the first thing that he noticed was the strange clothes he was wearing. His jacket was yellow and looked at least two sizes too big, His trousers were green in polka dots, and he was wearing sandals with pink socks underneath. John blinked. But his confusion quickly dissipated. Of course, the man was a wizard. It seemed that wizards were genetically incapable of wearing muggle clothes in a way that would make them actually look normal. John couldn’t even remember how many times Sherlock frowned at his jumpers.

“This is Mr. Weasley. He is going to need to interrogate each of you first in order to gather information about the burglars.” John ignored the protested sound Sherlock made at this information, because he was looking rater bemusedly at the man Mycroft just introduced. That man certainly wasn’t a Weasley. First of all, the man wasn’t a redhead. Secondly…. Well, he wasn’t a redhead. John was watching the man with obvious distrust. He most likely wasn’t an auror, which was a bit of a relief. The way he dressed suggested no knowledge about the muggle world, so he was a pureblood. But John didn’t recall meeting the man at any of the Death Eater’s meetings. So either he was a blood traitor or a neutral party. He didn’t know which option would be worse.

“I know you are distressed. You probably want some answers as you may have found the events you had witnessed confusing. But I promise we are going to explain everything. There is no need to worry.” Mycroft’s voice was so sweet that it would probably give them diabetics if he were to talk more.

“The interrogations will be brief, I assure you. May we use your bedroom for that, Sherlock?” The younger Holmes made a strangled noise which Mycroft took as a permission. John wasn’t so sure about that, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at Sherlock to maybe read from his expression whether he gave consent or not.

“Mrs. Hudson, if you don’t mind, you can go first. It is better to get over with it quickly, isn’t it?” Mycroft smiled at the old lady and proceeded to help her stand up from the sofa she was sitting on. John blinked. He completely forgot about the transfigured armchairs. Sherlock was sitting on the other one, and he most likely didn’t forget about the new furniture in the room.

“Oh, very well. Let’s go Mr. … Weasley, wasn’t it?” The wizard smiled at the lady, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. He seemed to be totally emotionless. A bit like Anthea, if John were to be honest. He wondered why Mycroft wanted to surround himself with such people.

“It will only take a few minutes.” The strangely dressed man reassured Mrs. Hudson and both of them went to Sherlock’s bedroom, closing the door behind them.

“Don’t look at me like that, Sherlock. She won’t get hurt.” Mycroft reassured his brother. John curiously looked at his flatmate and noticed that the man was glaring at his brother. Then he turned his gaze to John and kept looking at him as if he was a most fascinating puzzle. John couldn’t keep the eye contact for more than a few seconds, so he turned his attention back to Mycroft.

“She is going to have her memories of the recent events removed. Or rather modified. When she comes back she will think that some burglars came in and knocked you both unconscious. Then John came back and fended them off.” John agreed that it was the best possible course of action. He was also quite impressed that Mycroft deduced so much from a single text John had sent him. Well, he was _the smarter_ Holmes brother after all. What made him wonders was actually the fact that Mycroft said that in front of Sherlock. Was he so sure that his brother wouldn’t run or try to fight the people who wanted to attack the most precious thing he possessed – his mind? An answer to that came quicker than John would expect.

“We’re not going to do the same to you, Sherlock. Don’t worry. Your mind is perfectly safe. We are going to have a long chat after the matter with Mrs. Hudson will have been cleared.” They were going to leave Sherlock’s memories intact? John didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried by it. He was a bit relieved, if he were to be honest.

The men didn’t talk. They waited patiently in a complete silence. Mycroft sat down on the sofa Mrs. Hudson vacated, but John kept standing looking at anything but Sherlock. He guessed that his friend on the other hand was looking at nothing else but John. He was a new puzzle after all.

After a few moment which could last no longer than ten minutes, but to John were like whole centuries, Mrs. Hudson and the “Weasley” came back from the room. The landlady had a dazed look in her eyes, but was smiling and seemed to be all right.

“You must be tired Mrs. Hudson after everything that happened. Maybe you should go and rest? Sleep surely will help you regain your strength, isn’t that so dr. Watson?” Mycroft said politely. John only nodded and tried to smile at the woman but only managed a grimace. It was better like this, he knew. Mrs. Hudson was better off forgetting about everything that happened today. But still John felt guilty. Living as a muggle reintroduced the feeling of guilt to him. Now he probably wouldn’t even be able to cast a _Crucio_ on anybody. Maybe it was for the better. He never liked that spell anyway.

“You are right. I am too old for such adventures, boys. Tomorrow we will have a talk about better ways of locking the doors and protecting the flat. We can’t have burglars coming in as they please, now can we?” John nodded presuming that his voice would fail him. Mrs. Hudson was such a charming and kind old lady, and he has made her undergo such unpleasant things.

After she left, Mycroft nodded at the “Weasley”, and the wizard disappeared. Well, he disapparated actually. John briefly looked at Sherlock who was blinking and staring at the place where just a few seconds ago the man stood.

“Well, then. I believe that you should have a walk, dr. Watson. You seem to be very stressed, so fresh air and a bit of exercise would surely help you relieve it.” John blinked confusedly at the older Holmes.

“I don’t understa….” He begun but Mycroft cut in.

“I believe it would be better if I were to talk to my little brother alone. We are both _muggles_ , after all. My explanation would surely make things clearer for him than if you were to try, don’t you think so, dr. Watson?” John blinked.

“Are you going to tell him everything?” He asked not daring to look at Sherlock.

“That is my intention, yes.” Mycroft answered calmly.

“Even about…” John gulped “Even about me?” Mycroft’s eyes softened.

“I believe that would be the best, wouldn’t it? I don’t know much about your situation actually, but rest assured, I am not going to condemn you.” John lowered his eyes. Maybe it really would be better if Mycroft were to tell Sherlock the truth. They were brothers after all. Mycroft understood the way Sherlock’s mind worked.

“Okay, then I am going to leave for a bit. I… I’ll be back later.” He said quietly. And walked to the door. He turned around at looked at the two men who were silently staring at him. Then his gaze turned towards Sherlock. He swallowed, nodded in his direction and left. He hoped that when he returns Sherlock will still remain his friend.

Once he stepped outside, he took a deep breath. Then he looked around as if trying to spot anything suspicious. As nothing caught his attention, he started walking. He had no particular destination in mind. He just moved forward. His mind was occupied with thoughts about the events of the day. He kept walking and walking until he stopped in front of a graveyard. He blinked. He knew where he was. It was a graveyard where Mary and their child were buried. He didn’t visit it often. It still hurt to think about them. He tried to move on, but wasn’t very successful at it. If it weren’t for Sherlock then… He needs to stop thinking about Sherlock now or he’ll go crazy. He needs to occupy his mind with something else.

Next to the entrance to the cemetery stood a woman who was selling flowers. She was slowly packing up already as it was getting pretty late. He quickly made a decision and came towards her. He bought two large bouquets of white lilies and went to visit the graves of the two people he had loved very much.

He stopped in front of the graves. He placed the flowers in the vases that were empty. Probably someone threw out the flowers he had put in them last time he visited, that surely by then have wilted.

His life was built upon bad decision. Maybe if he had his wand with himself when Mary and the baby were dying, he would have been able to save them. Maybe if he had picked the Dumbledore’s side during the war, then he wouldn’t enter the muggle world. He would never have met Mary and she probably would still be alive. But then he would never meet Sherlock, too.

After meeting the man, John’s view on muggles changed dramatically. He noticed that they were not so different from wizards. Of course, Sherlock was different from both: normal wizards and normal muggles. He had never met such an amazing person before. He really cherished their friendship and would do anything to keep it. Before that, the only person he had really cared about was his sister. They spent a lot of time playing together. But then they got into different houses at Hogwarts. She became a Hufflepuff – entered the house of the weak. During her last year at school she became addicted to cheering and mood-enhancing potions. He knew by then that he had lost her. She became aggressive, destroyed her life almost completely, dropped off school and disappeared. And then, one day she came back home saying she was a homosexual and in love with some mudblood. At that time John believed that his father would have a heart attack. They had a big fight and she left home. John thought that she had made the greatest mistake of her life. Now looking back, he thought than maybe she actually had made a better decision than he had.

After that they meet only once: when John was running away to the muggle world. Harry gave him a mobile phone, some clothes and explained a few basic things about living as a muggle. He hadn’t thanked her. He hadn’t apologized. Just wished her happiness. Sometimes he wondered if she found it. Or maybe they both were cursed and there was no hope for them.

His life really got complicated. During the reign of the Dark Lord, things had been much simpler. It had been easy to hate and torture and kill the unknown. He had been feed the hatred toward muggles since childhood. The muggles were just cruel savages in his mind. When he killed them he thought that it was “us or them” situation. He believed that sooner or later they would attack wizards again. It was better to remove the danger. But it was futile. It never was possible to kill all the muggles. He also used to hate mudbloods and muggle lovers. He had believed them to betray the ways of wizards. He still thought it was true in some ways. But what he thought about the matter now wasn’t important. He was no longer a part of the wizarding world. He had different life now. Life with Sherlock Holmes. Life full of mysteries, dangers, running around London and blog writing. He was content and didn’t want to lose that.

John didn’t know how long was he standing in front of the graves. It was dark and cold, but he seemed to not notice that. Only a buzzing of his mobile phone brought him back from his trip to the past. It was a text from Mycroft.

_There is a car waiting for you in front of the gate._

_MH_

John stared at his phone. He wasn’t surprised than Mycroft knew where he was. What surprised him was the amount of time he spent there. It was already 11 PM. Several hours passed like nothing. John sighed and pocketed his phone. He was more calm now and less afraid of a confrontation with Sherlock. He slowly walked back to the gate and got into the black car that was waiting for him. As he was riding the car, his mind became completely empty. He thought about nothing, just stated at the shops, people and lights he passed. He was calm and ready to face the world. Because Sherlock was his world and nothing was going to change that.

Once he arrived he noticed lights in the windows of his flat. Sherlock was probably waiting for him in the living room. Mycroft most likely had already left. There was not use stalling any longer, so John quickly walked up the stairs and entered the flat.

Sherlock was sitting on the sofa in almost the same way he was sitting when John left hours earlier. John took off his jacket and approached him. He sat on the other sofa and faced his friend.

“Sherlock…” He began.

“Is it on your left inner forearm?” The man spoke to John for the first time since the visit of the Death Eaters. John blinked confusedly.

“You mean the…” He started but once again Sherlock interrupted him.

“The tattoo.” The detective explained shorty.

“Yes, it’s there.” John grabbed his left arm and squeezed it. Why was Sherlock asking about that of all things?

“Show me.” Sherlock’s eyes shone with intensity. The man most likely wouldn’t take no for an answer. John wondered if his friend would go as far as to use force if he were to decline. But the wizard wasn’t going to refuse the request. He sighed heavily and rolled up his sleeve. It was bare, of course. Sherlock stared intensively at it, but he couldn’t see anything. John carefully took his wand and pointed it at his left forearm.

“ _Finite Incantatem_.” He whispered. He noticed that Sherlock was moving his lips silently to repeat the incantation. Then he jumped closer to John startling the wizard.

“Fascinating. It’s moving. It has faded after the death of that Lord Vader, yes?” John snorted.

“Lord Voldemort.” He corrected but it seemed that Sherlock wasn’t listening. He was still staring intensively at the Mark. Then he suddenly grabbed John’s arm and traced the snake with his fingers. He tried poking the tattooed animal, and then pinched the skin where the skull was engraved.

“Ow!” John yelped in pain taking back his hand and massaging the sore spot.

“Mycroft said that it is more than a symbol of the Lord Vladimir.” John rolled his eyes. Only Sherlock would mock the name of the most feared Dark Lord of the century.

“It used to be. Now it is just a faded tattoo. Nothing more. And it’s Voldemort, not Vladimir.” John explained in a flat voice.

“What is a Kiss?” Sherlock changed topic so fast that John actually needed a moment to understand what his friend is actually asking about.

“A Kiss? Oh, a Dementor’s Kiss. Dementor is a dark creature that feeds upon human happiness. They can eat people’s souls. That is the Kiss. If one were to Kiss you, you would be an empty shell. Your soul would be gone forever. You would be alive, but it would be more like a permanent vegetative state.” Sherlock nodded in understanding muttering to himself. It seemed that this information was worthy being placed in his mind palace.

“Okay.” Sherlock said in the end and became quiet. John stared at him with open mouth.

“That’s it? You have no more questions? Nothing to say? To be angry about?” John asked disbelievingly.

“I know all I need to for now. I would like you to show me a few spells and I’d like to run a few experiments on you and your _wand_ , but Mycroft informed me that you are being tracked and it would be best to avoid excessively using magic till the danger passes.” John nodded in understanding.

“And what do you want me to say? Of course it came as a shock to me. There are things that I believed to be not real, I knew they _weren’t_ real and now they suddenly are. I need to reorganize my mind palace, my way of thinking and looking at things. There is so much new data that the procedure is going to take me weeks, if not even months.” Sherlock kept talking excitedly.

“I am certainly going to ask you many question. So many questions, but not yet. I first need to reorganize my mind. I can’t get distracted by some silly details.” Sherlock stood up and started to walk around the room.

“And of course I am angry. What was that I kept saying all the time? That you should observe and not just see. And look how stupid I was. It was actually me who was not observing. I am a fool, John. I am angry with myself and will be for some time.” John quickly stood up and grabbed his friend’s arm.

“Listen, Sherlock you aren’t the fool. You’re the last person that could be called that. Muggles…. Not-magical people generally don’t see magic. Well, they see it, but unless they know or believe it is real, they won’t see it for what it really is.”

“I still should have been able to…” Sherlock started but John interrupted him.

“You are a man of science. Probably at the early age you had stopped believing in supernatural and that is perfectly normal.” Sherlock frowned.

“It was a mistake I made. I was _told_ magic isn’t real, so I believed it. I didn’t even try to see whether it was the truth or not. And yet you call me a man of science. What a joke.” John’s heart broke a little when he saw his friend’s anguish.

“I don’t think you would be able to prove the magic was real on your own.” John explained. “Wizards generally keep away from muggles. The glimpses of magic you would witness would probably be gone without a trace before you started examining them.” Sherlock didn’t seem convinced but he calmed down. His gaze turned towards the sofas.

“Are they going to stay?” He asked. John shook his head.

“The spell would wear off in time and those don’t look good here anyway.” He waved his wand and the sofas returned to their original shape. Two armchairs stood in the living room as if nothing happened to them.

“Aren’t you concerned that the magic you perform will bring here the magical police?” Sherlock asked looking a bit worried, but mostly curious.

“Simple spells are so weak that they don’t leave a trace. The aurors won’t find me if I use those.” Sherlock’s eyes shone.

“Interesting.”


End file.
